CHAPTER 1
CLARA
Clara Ashford was certain she now knew exactly what it was like to be a hundred years old. In all those paranormal romances she’d consumed as a teenager, she’d wondered how anyone could be ready to just end it all, especially a vampire who was eternally young, eternally dateable. But now? Being eternally datable sounded like a special kind of hell.
She sighed and tried not to look as miserable as she felt, sitting across from her most recent dating app match, listening to him explain non-fungible tokens to her in a condescending tone that was somehow both infuriating and dull. His name was Jeremy, and Clara should have known based on that fact alone. She’d never met anyone she liked named Jeremy. It was some kind of curse, probably. And this Jeremy was no different. He’d started out asking her about her own hobbies, and when she mentioned that she often enjoyed casually investing small sums, the floodgates had opened wide. And what spilled out was a lecture she would have walked out of had she been subjected to it in college — this despite the fact that she paid for her own tuition and hated to waste a dollar of it.
He paused his lecture, which had segued into the virtues of cryptocurrencies, and sipped his beer. “Are you sure you don’t want to write any of this down?” He winked. “Or are you coming up with an excuse for a second date.”
It took every ounce of self-control Clara had to keep from rolling her eyes. Why did they always assume she knew nothing about cryptocurrency? She knew plenty. She just didn’t think it made a sound investment, at least not until it was better regulated. Clara was a careful investor, old school. She liked a slow trickle from a sure bet. She was in it for the long haul — always had been — but somehow, she seemed to attract endless wannabe day traders.
Did Jeremy even work? She was beginning to suspect he didn’t. “So, what do you do for work?” she asked, giving him her sweetest smile.
And she could almost hear the screeching sound of all his thoughts coming to an immediate stop. His face went bright red, and Clara bit her lip to keep from laughing. Now he matched his hair, she thought. Had he been less annoying and closer to her age, she might have thought it was cute. In fact, she had thought him cute when she matched with him. He’d looked to be around her age, mid-thirties maybe, red hair, bright smile — you know, fun. But she was beginning to suspect the photo he used on his dating profile was at least ten years old.
Not that she was against dating older men. What she was against was deception and the fact that he was likely in his mid-forties without a clue what he wanted to do with his life. Directionless, chronically online. Dull, dull, dull.
Their waitress dropped by to take their order. “I’ll take a cheeseburger,” Clara said. Might as well get something juicy out of this date.
“Did you want fries with that?” the server asked. She was young, likely fresh out of college. Clara imagined the waitress had different plans for her life, but good jobs were tough to come by these days, even with a college education. Clara knew because she had tried over ten years ago, but the stress and rejection had gotten to her, and she’d decided to take the time to travel instead of diving headfirst into a career. Of course, travel very quickly became a habit she didn’t want to give up, and now it felt all but too late.
She nodded vigorously at the server. “You know I do. Don’t skimp on them, either.”
Jeremy cut in to ask, “You on a seafood diet or something?” He glanced expectantly between the waitress and Clara.
“Huh?” Clara squinted across the table at him, trying to read his meaning. It didn’t make sense. She hadn’t ordered any seafood. But when she looked back at the waitress, she saw the woman roll her eyes with a semi-disgusted expression. “I don’t get it,” Clara said.
“Have him explain it,” the waitress answered, gesturing to Jeremy. “It’s his stupid joke.” Then she walked away muttering, “Not even an original one.”
Clara turned back to Jeremy and glared at him. “What?”
His smile was all kinds of arrogance mixed with a pinch of uncertainty, and Clara wanted to tell him he had his proportions all wrong. “You know, you see food and you eat it.” He laughed until he realized Clara wasn’t joining him. Then he got defensive. “What?” he snapped at her. “It was a joke. Don’t you get it?”
“Oh, I get it all right,” she said. “I just don’t think it’s funny.”
He shrugged and tried to look like he didn’t care. “Why not?”
“Are you seriously making fun of me for ordering fries?”
“No,” he lied. “I always appreciate a woman who isn’t afraid to put on a little weight. Way less superficial. It’s the overly pretty ones you can’t trust.”
Clara didn’t spend a lot of time online, but she wasn’t completely ignorant about the subcultures that thrived there. One that she’d learned was a major red flag when it came to dates was the PUA movement. The “pickup artists,” they liked to call themselves, as though there was an ounce of art or creativity to simply parroting what you’ve been coached to parrot. She didn’t even try to hide her glare this time. “Are you negging me?”
He scoffed, but his face turned bright red, loudly advertising how right she was and how ashamed he felt at being caught. Rather than apologize, though, the man chose to dig his heels in. “Like I would need to pull a stunt like that to take a girl home. Maybe you’re just not used to honesty.”
The date had been as good as over an hour ago as far as Clara was concerned, but she’d done her best to be pleasant for the last of it. No one deserved to go home feeling rejected. She’d let him down easy later. But suddenly, she was way less worried about his feelings. She rolled her eyes and muttered. “You’re such a child.”
Impossibly, Jeremy’s face turned even redder. “What? Are you serious?”
She shrugged. “Maybe you’re just not used to honesty.”
By the time the waitress showed up with their food, Jeremy looked about to pop. Had he been a cartoon character, there would have been steam coming out of his ears. He was full of rage with nowhere to put it since Clara wasn’t bothered by any of his opinions, which was a trick she’d learned early in her teens. Unfortunately, he lashed out at the waitress instead. “You call that extra fries?” He gestured at Clara’s plate. “That’s pathetic. She ordered extra. You’re trying to cheat us. If we get charged for this bullshit, you can be sure your manager will be hearing about it.”
So, in order to avoid looking like the villain himself, Jeremy had decided to bestow the title onto their server, whose smile instantly dropped. “That’s twice what we normally serve,” she said.
“And now you’re lying,” Jeremy snapped. “Perfect. Have you written a book called How to Avoid Getting Tips or something?”
The waitress heaved the most over-it sigh Clara had probably ever heard. “I’ll bring some more,” she said.